


Where Ignorance is Bliss

by dracoqueen22



Series: Folly of the Brave [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Fluff, M/M, Set Immediately Following Episode Fourteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Whoever Molly used to be, it really doesn’t matter. Who he is right now, that’s the mystery Fjord wants to solve.





	Where Ignorance is Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely set in my "Folly of the Brave" universe, though the timeline in it is a bit wonky. I am purposefully not thinking of episode 26 at this point. ;_;

It’s harder than it should be to get everyone out.   
  
Jester is, of course, the one to linger, giving Fjord a knowing look like she’s figured out some big secret. She winks with exaggerated motions and makes a hand sign Fjord suspects he’s supposed to know, but doesn’t.   
  
“Will you just go to sleep?” Fjord finally demands and gives her an outright push.   
  
Not that it would do anything if she doesn’t allow it. There’s a certain unfairness to the world when Jester is one of the physically strongest of their little group. Yasha, Fjord definitely understands. But Jester is made of sparkles and sprinkles and sugar.   
  
It doesn’t make sense.   
  
“Okay, I’ll leave,” Jester says with a toss of her hair and a flounce and swirl of her dress. “But only because the good stuff won’t happen if I stay. Unless you don’t mind if I watch?”   
  
“We’re going to sleep,” Fjord says and as Jester whirls around to make what is most likely another terrible implication, he shuts the door in her face.   
  
“You’re so rude!” Jester complains from the other side.   
  
Fjord mutters something unkind.   
  
“I heard that!” Jester sings.   
  
“She never stops,” Molly says, and Fjord can’t decide if it’s with exasperation or awe. It’s so hard to tell with Molly, even now.   
  
Or especially now.   
  
“Okay, well, I’m going to sleep now,” Jester says. “But I want to hear all about it in the morning.”   
  
Yeah. That’s not going to happen.   
  
Fjord stands by the door for another tense moment or two. He thinks he hears Jester walk away. He definitely hears another door open and shut with a loud bang. He hopes that it’s Jester and Beau’s door.   
  
A minute of blessed silence comes and goes.   
  
Only then does Fjord allow a sigh of relief. He knocks his forehead on the door, a dull thunk echoing out.   
  
“You think she’s going to want pictures with that story?” Molly asks. Jewelry jingles together as he removes it from his horns and ears. “Or will she draw them herself? Frankly, I don’t know which is worse. It’s not that she’s a terrible artist, but I don’t want to imagine what she’s going to imagine, if you catch my meaning.”   
  
Molly’s babbling. Is that a good thing?   
  
Fjord honestly has no earthly idea.   
  
He turns away from the door and pulls off his armor, setting it aside.   
  
“I think the safest bet is to not engage,” Fjord says as he drops down on the edge of the bed and leans over to unlace his boots.   
  
He sneaks a peek at Molly, who’s already peeled out of his own boots. Bare purple toes wiggle at him, like Molly knows he’s stolen a glance.   
  
“Right, yes. Do tell me if that actually works,” Molly says with a laugh. He wriggles out of his clothes until he’s down to pants and shirt, the latter so loosely laced Fjord can see miles of tattoos, purple skin, and scars.   
  
Questions dance at the tip of Fjord’s tongue, as they always do. Knowing that Molly can’t really answer them isn’t the reason he holds back.   
  
The past few days have been a whirlwind, and Fjord’s mind can’t stop spinning. There are a thousand and one questions that need answering, and no immediate paths to finding those answers. They’re caught up in a mess because of course they are.   
  
Fjord kicks his boots aside and sits up, his attention finding Molly because that’s where his eyes go now, more often than not. It’s hard not to want to look. Not when he knows what Molly sounds like in the midst of pleasure. Or what he tastes like.   
  
“What?” Molly asks, one eyebrow arched as he threads his fingers through his hair, loosely raking it out of his face.   
  
“Why are you over there?” Fjord asks.   
  
Molly looks around him. He pokes at the bed with one hand. Lifts up the edge of the blanket and peers underneath it. His tail flicks lazily.   
  
“Well,” he says. “It is my bed, last time I checked.” His tongue flicks over his lips, and he cocks his head playfully. “Or are you asking because you think I should be over there and not over here, out of reach?”  
  
Sometimes, Jester and Molly are two peas in a pod.   
  
Fjord crooks a finger. “Just get over here.”   
  
Molly chuckles and stands up, only to sort of sway in place, one hand pressed to his chin. “I don’t know. Now that I’ve tried out both, I’m pretty sure my bed is the more comfortable of the two.”   
  
Fjord hooks a finger in Molly’s hem and tugs the tiefling toward him. Molly immediately turns the stumble into a graceful slide right into Fjord’s lap, his knees bracketing Fjord’s hips, and his palms sliding up and over Fjord’s bare shoulders.   
  
“I think you have something else in mind than sleeping,” Molly says as his tail flicks through the air.   
  
“Actually, I do intend to sleep,” Fjord corrects. One hand finds Molly’s waist, the other moving to gently cup Molly’s neck, fingers nearly concealing the spray of peacock feathers. “But we need to, hm, clear the air a bit.”   
  
Molly lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so?” His tone is casual, playful even, but a stiffness races through his body. Fjord wouldn’t even have sensed it, if Molly wasn’t in his lap. “And what’s fogged up the atmosphere?” He leans closer, the open folds of his shirt tickling over Fjord’s bare chest.   
  
For a moment, he’s distracted. Then he sweeps his thumb over the curve of Molly’s jaw, near his ear.   
  
“Nothing’s changed,” he says as he meets Molly’s gaze, putting as much gravity into his tone as he can muster. He wants no confusion or misinterpretation. “Between us, I mean.”  
  
Molly’s lips curve into a half-smile, half-smirk. “Why would it?” he purrs as he leans closer to steal a kiss, one that devolves into a lick halfway through, leaving Fjord’s lips wet with saliva.   
  
He laughs against Molly’s mouth and steals his lips for a real kiss, one that tastes of all the alcohol he’s consumed tonight, and an odd tang that’s distinctly Molly – a hint of copper mixed with earth.   
  
Fingers scrape across Fjord’s shoulder, nails dragging over his skin, drawing little scratches that’ll be gone by morning. Fjord sighs into the kiss, and Molly bites his bottom lip, playful and serious all at once.   
  
“You know,” Molly says as he moves on to exploring the curve of Fjord’s jaw with his teeth. “The previous owner of this body was probably an asshole.” He rolls forward, the warmth of their bare chests colliding. “But I think I’m pretty nice.”   
  
Fjord tilts his head, granting Molly access to whatever he wants because it’s always been that easy. Scarily so. “You’re kind of an asshole, too,” he says as teeth find his earlobe and tug on it.   
  
His fingers flex on Molly’s hips, and the fatigue clawing at him is the only reason he doesn’t yank Molly closer or spin and toss Molly on the bed, smothering the tiefling with his body.   
  
“You make a fair point,” Molly says with a laugh. His tail lashes through the air before it settles, the tip of it curling around Fjord’s left calf. “And yet, here I am.”   
  
Fjord hums a noncommittal noise and turns his head to capture Molly’s mouth again, tongue teasingly darting past the seam of Molly’s lips to tangle with Molly’s. Molly chuckles against his mouth and plays hard to get, until Fjord squeezes his bum, drawing out a sound that can be called nothing else but a squeak.   
  
It’s adorable.   
  
“You, my friend, are starting things neither of us can finish,” Molly says as his fingernails draw more lines across Fjord’s shoulders, raking up little raised welts. It’s a languid action, however, because Molly is more or less deflating in Fjord’s arms, like he’s rapidly losing the energy to remain upright.   
  
“It’s a terribly sad state of affairs,” Fjord sighs, with both amusement and reluctance.   
  
He doesn’t immediately stop kissing Molly, however. Sometimes, he wonders how he ever manages to pull away because there’s something about the touch of Molly’s lips that is frightfully addictive. He steals one kiss and immediately wants another, and a third, and a fourth until Molly is warm and pliant against him, and he can palm miles and miles of lavender, scarred skin.   
  
“Nnngh, sleep,” Molly groans against his mouth, the scrape of his fingernails turning to the scrub of the heel of his palms until his arms are draped over Fjord’s shoulders and his horns tap against the side of Fjord’s head.   
  
Fjord chuckles. “Yeah. Sleep.” He sweeps his hands up and down Molly’s back, thumbs sliding under his shirt to caress bare skin. “In one bed.”   
  
Molly snorts and draws back from Fjord, sliding off his lap in a move that should have been graceful, but exhaustion makes him stumble instead. “Yes, in one bed,” he says, though its with a mournful pout in the direction of his. “Though mine is more comfortable...” His lips curve toward amusement, his statement made in jest.   
  
“Get down here.” Fjord grabs Molly’s wrist, tugs, and pulls.   
  
Molly tries to dig his toes into the wood floor, but Fjord has the better leverage. A tail lashes through the air before Molly topples on top of him. Fjord grabs and rolls, the bed rocking and creaking like it’s about to crumble to bits beneath him. Molly laughs and wriggles around, attempting to grapple.   
  
They’ve played this game so many times before.   
  
Fjord wraps around Molly like he’s got twice as many limbs as he should – you’re an octopus, Molly had once teased. No wonder you taste like seawater. His mouth finds the scarred expanse of Molly’s throat, tracing the horizontal welts because he can.   
  
“This is not sleeping,” Molly drawls, his words vibrating over Fjord’s lips.   
  
“You’re so observant,” Fjord says, but Molly’s right, and he reluctantly withdraws. He clambers off the bed, pointing at Molly. “Stay.”   
  
The tiefling smirks at him, turns on his side, bracing his head up with a palm and a bent elbow. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done to make you think I’m an obedient individual.”   
  
“You’ll obey if it serves your interests,” Fjord points out. He quickly crosses the floor and douses the lantern, casting the room in shadows, Molly’s eyes glinting at him in the dark.   
  
Dark vision doesn’t keep him from stubbing his toe on one of the bed’s posts. Fjord hisses and stumbles, tripping over a discarded boot that has to be Molly’s, and he more falls on the bed then climbs seductively into it.   
  
“You’re right,” Molly says with a laugh, looking down at Fjord with amusement rich in his tone. “Obeying got me exactly what I want.” His free hand slides over Fjord’s bare chest, warmer than it has any right to be.   
  
Whoever he used to be, it really doesn’t matter. Who he is right now, that’s the mystery Fjord wants to solve.   
  
He cups his hand around Molly’s head, fingers threading through dark hair, and pulls Molly down into a kiss. Not one meant to arouse, but one meant to savor, to taste. It doesn’t go any further because he can read the fatigue in the air.   
  
It’s odd how it already feels natural to pull Molly against him, for their bodies to twist and tangle together, no need for a blanket despite the chill of the room. Molly sleeps like a limpet, clutching to whatever’s in reach, and Fjord used to wonder what that meant, why Molly acts like the smallest thing what cares about him might slip away in the night.   
  
Now he knows that not even Molly knows, and it makes his heart hurt a little.   
  
“Go to sleep, Fjord. I can hear you thinking from here,” Molly says from where he’s got his head on Fjord’s chest. His horns will leave an imprint by morning, if he doesn’t squirm around, and even though the marks will fade in an hour, until then, Fjord won’t be able to avoid feeling owned.   
  
“Now who’s being bossy?” Fjord snorts, but he slides an arm around Molly’s waist, tucks his hand under the sweep of a shirt, feeling Molly’s bare skin beneath his palm.   
  
He feels the curve of Molly’s grin against his chest. “Maybe tomorrow I can show you just how bossy I can be.” There’s mischief in his tone, and Fjord’s dick twitches, just a little.   
  
“Goodnight, Molly,” he says, trying to be firm, mostly for his own sake.   
  
Molly chuckles and rubs his cheek over Fjord’s chest. He says nothing, and that’s for the best, because this could go on all night, and they both really need sleep. Fjord knows this much.   
  
He doesn’t know anything about who Molly used to be, but he knows a lot about who Molly is now. Behind the bullshit, the things he shows because not all of it is an act. Some things are nature. Like the way his nose crinkles when he’s genuinely confused, and his sheer obsession for all things gaudy and shiny and obscene.   
  
Those are the truths that matter. Those are the truths Fjord trusts.   
  
It’s why he can fall asleep without fear of a knife to the back or a dagger to the belly, without worry that he’ll wake in the morning with his sack rifled through (unless Nott’s snuck inside in the middle of the night, but that’s another issue altogether), and maybe he’ll wake alone because Molly got hungry and slipped out of the bed without bothering to wake Fjord.   
  
But Fjord doesn’t go to sleep afraid and that’s the most important point of all.   
  
***

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, as always, is welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. CR is still a new fandom for me. :)


End file.
